


Wet Your Whistle

by darkmagicalgirl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagicalgirl/pseuds/darkmagicalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamaki gets a job as a bartender. Matsukawa likes his uniform. (Alternatively: Matsukawa tries to ignore his huge crush on his friend-with-benefits. He fails.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Your Whistle

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write a HanaMatsu story but couldn't come up with any ideas. Then I thought about Hanamaki as a bartender and this happened.

"I can't believe Makki has the sexiest job out of all of us," Oikawa says sadly as he smooths his hands along the polished wood of the bar. "I was supposed to be the sexy one! I was a shoe-in!"

"You could never be the sexy one, and stop thinking such weird things about our friends," Iwaizumi says with a snort. "So, Hanamaki, is that uniform just for show or can you get me a drink?"

Hanamaki smirks. "I'll need to see some ID first," he says. He mimes looking at some cards even though none have been handed to him. "My, my, it seems one of you is still under the legal drinking age!" He grins at Matsukawa. "Can I offer you some wholesome milk or juice instead, young man?"

Matsukawa restrains himself from rolling his eyes. His friends can never seem to pass up an opportunity to remind him that he's the baby of the group, for all that it's only by a matter of months. "Just a water or soda is fine, you old geezer," he says.

"A beer for me," Iwaizumi says.

"No way," Hanamaki says with a tiny bit of a pout. "You guys can't come in on my first day and order boring things! I didn't spend so much time studying just to open a beer bottle. I'm making you all fun drinks."

"Make mine extra sweet!" Oikawa says chirpily.

"Extra bitter, understood," Hanamaki says and ignores Oikawa's protests as he begins to grab cups and bottles.

Matsukawa props his head on his hands as he watches, letting his naturally sleepy expression hide his intent interest from anyone who isn't looking for it. He can't help but think that Oikawa is right, Hanamaki's new job _is_ sexy. He looks good in his bartender uniform. Matsukawa wouldn't have thought that a black vest and bowtie could make anyone look attractive rather than ridiculous, but somehow on Hanamaki it just works. It's not helped by the way he's pushed his white shirt sleeves up, baring his thick forearms and part of the long, twisting river tattoo he'd gotten their first year out of high school, that starts by his left wrist and curls up his arm and over his shoulder to become a waterfall down his back. Usually it was hidden by his sleeves or make-up, but his employers here were more radical than most and didn't mind it. It's a good look for him, no doubt about it.

Matsukawa could deal with all that, probably, maybe, but then Hanamaki has to go and get all concentrated mixing the drinks, poking just the tip of his tongue out of his mouth as he flips bottles in the air with what are surely unnecessary flourishes and dumps ice in a blender. When Hanamaki turns and bends over to get out some kind of fruit from the miniature fridge, showing off just how well fitted his pants are, Matsukawa is positive that something about this whole situation ought to be illegal, because it all certainly _feels_ obscene.

"Aw, Mattsun, don't look put out," Oikawa says and Matsukawa is relieved that for once Oikawa's freaky powers of perceptions aren't one hundred percent accurate. "We'll all buy you drinks on your birthday, so just wait a month!"

"I didn't realize Oikawa had such a thing for corrupting the younger generations," Hanamaki says. "We ought to inform the press."

"Hey, anything that involves Oikawa buying us all drinks sounds good to me," Iwaizumi says.

"Iwa-chan! I said all of us would buy for Mattsun, not that I'd buy for all of you," Oikawa says with a glare.

"Oh, really? Because I heard it the other way. Didn't you guys hear it the other way?" Iwaizumi asks.

"Ta-da," Hanamaki says, cutting off the argument before it can begin by sliding three drinks into place before his friends. Oikawa's is a frozen one, thick white and red with a wedge of pineapple over the tall glass's rim and a pink umbrella. Iwaizumi's drink looks to Matsukawa's untrained eye to be some sort of classic cocktail, clear liquid with a splash of red toward the bottom, and two olives on a toothpick shaped like a sword. Matsukawa's own is a green-yellow mixture with salt around the rim, garnished splendidly by a lime and three different umbrellas of varying colors.

"It's non-alcoholic, don't worry," Hanamaki says.

"How come Mattsun gets three umbrellas?" Oikawa asks. "I only got one and his doesn't even look like the kind of drink that should have any."

"He gets the most because I like him the most," Hanamaki says. "You can die in the tiny umbrella uprising for all I care."

"I can't believe this," Oikawa says. "Iwa-chan, give me your sword!" He reaches over to pluck the tiny plastic sword from Iwaizumi's glass, only to have his hand slapped back.

"No way, Shittykawa! This is my sword, get your own," Iwaizumi says, creating a defensive line around his glass with his hands.

"Um, excuse me," a woman's voice interrupts them. Matsuwaka turns to see a young woman in a business suit, blushing slightly as she looks at Oikawa. "Are, are you Oikawa Tooru-san?"

"That's me," Oikawa says, doing his best to look as dazzling as possible while still rubbing the hand Iwaizumi hit. 

The girl instantly blushes even harder. "Wow! I- I'm such a huge fan of yours!"

Oikawa preens under the attention. "I'm so flattered! It's so nice to meet a fan of the sport," he says with a broad smile.

"Sport?" she repeats, confused, then shakes her head. "I have almost all of your photos, and I saw you on that variety show the other night! You seemed so smart and handsome!"

Oikawa's face falls for a brief second before his smile snaps back into place. "Wow, thanks so much!" he says. "I was really nervous that day, so it makes me relieved to hear you say that."

"Would you mind coming over to meet my friends?" she asks and just like that, they've lost Oikawa for the better part of the evening. He takes his relationship with his fans so seriously that once he says hello to one of them, he has to say hello to all the rest, and he can't resist offering them photos, heartfelt compliments, personal advice, autographs and it's probably lucky that none of them have ever asked for something gross like his toenail clippings because Matsukawa is sure he'd offer those up, too, if he thought they'd brighten a fan's day.

"I miss the days when I could just throw something at him," Iwaizumi says. "Now I can only do that in private or I'll get death threats by the bundle. Still, I better make sure he doesn't get in too much trouble." He slides off the barstool and follows after Oikawa where he can scold and generally attempt to mother him into making better life choices.

"Even though they're pros now, nothing really changes, huh?" Matsukawa says, quietly stealing their umbrella and sword for himself. "How nostalgic."

"Are you going to get melancholy on me?" Hanamaki asks. "Talking about the old days or something like they weren't just a couple years ago?"

Matsukawa snorts. "Of course not," he says. "Though I admit, university would be a lot more fun if you were there whispering jokes like you used to, even if you were just trying to get me into trouble for laughing in class."

"Hey, hey," Hanamaki says, mouth crinkling in the slightest of ways that Matsukawa knows is his version of a fond grin. "I taught you to keep a hell of a pokerface, didn't I?"

"True," Matsukawa says. "Though I don't know if accountants generally have a need for really good poker faces."

"Sure you do," Hanamaki says. "I mean, think about all that math you'll be doing… I mean, some of those numbers are just _irrational_. It might get so bad that you even think some of them are _imaginary_."

"I know you think you're being witty, but you really are not," Matsukawa says, sipping his drink. "This is good, by the way."

Hanamaki smiles before hurrying off to take another customer's order. Matsukawa doesn't see much of any of his friends after that. Oikawa is always being dragged off by one fan or another and Iwaizumi follows to chaperone him, while Hanamaki is on shift and kept busy. Matsukawa doesn't mind just getting to sit by himself for a bit. He likes the atmosphere of the bar Hanamaki is working at. It's relaxed, not too quiet or too loud, with music playing unobtrusively. The soft, warm lighting goes well with the dark brown woods used whenever possible in the furniture, making the whole place feel somehow gentle, home-like.

And, of course, it has possibly the most attractive bartender Matsukawa has ever seen. With everyone he knows kept busy, Matsukawa can ogle his best friend as much as he wants. 

It seems like every time Matsukawa has turned around these past few years, Hanamaki has somehow gotten even more good looking, which he's pretty sure is some kind of impossibility. There should be some sort of hotness threshold, a point at which he'll hit a handsomeness plateau and stay at it, but if there is, he hasn't managed to meet it yet.

He's just so easy in his own body, motions strong and sure. His features have become sharper since the last of his baby fat has melted away and his shoulders are even broader. He still gets the same dorky haircut, which Matsukawa would never admit to finding actually pretty cute, but without his mother badgering him he leaves longer and longer gaps between cutting it, so soft wisps of hair play around his face and down his neck, each one seeming to call out to Matsukawa to try to twirl it around his fingertips or tug on them slightly, just to see how Hanamaki would react.

The worst, though, are his eyes. His fucking eyes would be the end of Matsukawa. The way he'd just slide his gaze over, sharp enough to cut, and be able to communicate to Matsukawa in an instant some wicked joke or indecent idea without saying a word, without doing anything that would give away that he was anything other than a slightly sleepy looking young man.

Or the way he'd look when he was actually sleepy, his eyes soft and rounder than normal, fluttering closed every few seconds as he fights to stay conscious. Or when he'd see Matsukawa walk in and just the corners of his eyes would twitch upward and it feels more intimate than if he'd thrown his arms around him. Or even how they'd look when he was hungry and grumpy because of it, the dead eyed stare he'd give anything that wasn't food and yet still dared to cross his path.

It was possible Matsukawa had it bad for his best friend, and not just in a sexual way. 

He only realize that his staring had turned into what could only be considered semi-blatant leering when Hanamaki catches his eye and winks. 

"If you keep looking at me like that I'll invite you to spend the night, and I don't know if you have class tomorrow morning," Hanamaki says as he wipes down the bar, his placid expression slipping just enough that Matsukawa can tell he's amused.

"I don't have any classes tomorrow, actually," Matsukawa says, trying not to appear too eager. Him and Hanamaki had, well, hooked up, fooled around, explored some of the benefits that a friends with benefits relationship could offer, several times over the past few years, but Hanamaki didn't know that Matsukawa felt anything more for him than that and Matsukawa intended to keep it that way. He knew Hanamaki wouldn't feel the same and it'd get all awkward and weird. That was the last thing he wanted. "If I did, I wouldn't agree to go out with Oikawa. You never know when he might get the idea to do another one of those all night karaoke marathons again. I'd hate to fall asleep in class because I was listening to Japan's most advertisement-friendly reserve player try to warble out every Girl's Generation song to ever hit the charts."

Hanamaki's mouth twists. "Cool," he says, unflappable calm in place no matter where Matsukawa searches for cracks. "Then if you want, just stick around another hour until my shift ends."

"Bring me some more tiny umbrellas and I'll think about it," Matsukawa deadpans. "Oh, and another one of… whatever you made me."

The next hour seems like it take forever to Matsukawa. He probably seems distracted to Oikawa and Iwaizumi when they finally manage to tear themselves away from Oikawa's fans and have their drinks. Luckily, Oikawa is in high spirits because one of the women had known him as The-Reserve-Setter-Who-Happens-To-Model-Sometimes rather than The-Model-Who-Plays-Some-Sport-Thing. He carries on most of the conversation on his own with only occasional questions from Matsukawa or corrections from Iwaizumi needed. Still, Matsukawa's relieved when they leave, Iwaizumi dragging Oikawa out while yelling something about sleep schedules and training regimens. 

After that, it's not long until Hanamaki is relieved from his shift and gestures for Matsukawa to follow him out of the bar into the cool night air, turning down the streets toward Hanamaki's apartment nearby. Even though he knows there wasn't any alcohol in his drinks, Matsukawa feels a little bit like what he imagines intoxication must feel like, loose and warm whenever he looks at Hanamaki's face under the lamp lights.

"So how did you like your first day as a bartender?" he asks to give himself something to think about other than mooning over his best friend.

"It was okay," Hanamaki says, shrugging slightly. "I messed up some guy's drink but he didn't seem too upset by it so it wasn't a big deal."

"That's good," Matsukawa says.

"And I made pretty good tips," Hanamaki says as they turn in to his apartment complex, Hanamaki pulling out his keys and sliding them in to the door. "I got some numbers, too, actually," he says as he gets it open.

Matsukawa feels his mouth go dry and wishes he could see Hanamaki's face so he could look for some clue about what he's thinking. He can't read anything from the back of Hanamaki's neck. "That's cool, I guess," he says finally, shutting the door behind him.

"Is it?" Hanamaki says but doesn't give Matsukawa time to answer before he's turning and pressing their mouths together, pushing Matsukawa up against the door. Sometimes, like the first time they'd done this, their kisses would be soft and lazy, all unhurried brushes of lips against lips, but other times, like tonight, Hanamaki sets an unyielding pace. He doesn't waste a single breath before his teeth are pulling at Matsukawa's lower lip and as soon as Matsukawa's mouth opens in response, Hanamaki's tongue is there, pushing insistently into his mouth.

Matsukawa likes the slower pace, likes to get to take the time to savor every moment he gets with Hanamaki, but he doesn't mind it this way, either. It's hard to mind anything when Hanamaki's hands are tugging his shirt up, one palm sliding up against his stomach and scratching gently against the skin there in the way he know Matsukawa loves, when Hanamaki is thrusting one of his thighs between Matsukawa's, pressing against him in a way that makes Matsukawa groan a little, low in his throat, even with the thick jeans he's wearing.

It's not long before Hanamaki has his shirt off completely and is working on his belt, pulling Matsukawa away from the door and the few steps it takes to reach his bed in the tiny apartment. When Hanamaki pulls away to start yanking off his own clothes, tugging at the bowtie, Matsukawa makes a noise of protest.

"Can you, uh, leave it on, maybe? Your uniform?" he asks.

Hanamaki raises his eyebrows. "That's what was doing it for you tonight? I never pegged you as the uniform fetish type," he says, but he stills his hands on the necktie.

"Says the guy who asked me to wear thigh highs that one time," Matsukawa says.

"Hey, you looked great in those," Hanamaki says, clearly not embarrassed in the slightest. "But you know, I have to take off something, or it'll be a really bothersome time for me when laundry day comes around. I'll probably give the old lady who uses the machine next to me the vapors." 

"Don't bring up old ladies when we're about to have sex," Matsukawa says and pushes Hanamaki back against the bed, keeping a bit of pressure on his shoulder until Hanamaki realizes what position he's trying to get them into and helps him out, scooting back until his back is against the headboard and Matsukawa can crouch between his legs. He leans in so he can suck a trail of kisses against Hanamaki's neck, just above that crisp white collar, and presses his hand against the bulge in Hanamaki's pants.

"Not helping with the laundry day problem," Hanamaki says, not even sounding a bit winded as he tips his hips up into the friction. If Matsukawa didn't have the proof growing right there against the heel of his hand that what he was doing was having an effect on Hanamaki, he could almost have thought they were just talking about the weather.

Matsukawa pulls back from mouthing on Hanamaki's neck to shoot him a look. "Are you fifteen again and going to make a mess of yourself from just being touched at all?" he asks even as he obligingly tugs down the zipper and pulls Hanamaki's pants down just enough that the soft skin of his thighs come in to view. His thighs and… "You went commando on your first day of work?"

"What, like they were going to check?" Hanamaki says. Now that he actually has his dick out, he suddenly seems to be hit by the urge to slow down, tugging Matsukawa forward so he can kiss him more gently than he had yet that night, all soft licks against the corner of Matsukawa's mouth, pulling back every time Matsukawa tries to deepen the kiss, his hands stroking and pressing against Hanamaki's thighs for leverage.

Finally Matsukawa can't stand it any more. The next time Hanamaki pulls back, instead of trying to lean forward to reclaim his lips, Matsuwaka leans to the side so he can run his tongue around the shell of Hanamaki's ear, from the top to the bottom where he can suck the lobe into his mouth and carefully use his teeth on it.

Hanamaki lets out a half sigh, half tiny moan, a huge admission of desire from him. He's always liked it when Matsukawa played with his ears. Matsukawa didn't really get it, since when Hanamaki had tried to return the favor it hadn't felt all that different than when Hanamaki used his mouth anywhere else, but he was more than happy to take advantage of Hanamaki's sensitivity to pull out any reactions he could get. By now, it didn't take him long at all to get Hanamaki hissing and trembling beneath him as he stroked his tongue over where his teeth had just been, varying up the sensation and refusing to fall into a rhythm that Hanamaki could adjust to.

"You win, you win," Hanamaki groans finally.

Matsukawa pulls back and decides Hanamaki still looks far too put together, his face too calm, almost relaxed, in sharp contrast to the way his dick is getting flushed and straining. "I didn't know we were competing over anything," he says in his most even tone and leans back in to continue.

"You fucking," Hanamaki chokes out, squirming. "Jerk, bastard, you ass, I hope you-."

"What's that about my ass?" Matsukawa asks, rubbing his nose into the hair right by Hanamaki's ear, enjoying how soft it is and how deeply he can smell Hanamaki.

"Ugh, you're the worst," Hanamaki says, groping at Matsukawa's shoulders. "Quit teasing me, okay?"

Matsukawa slides back so he can stand and pull off his pants and boxers, then returns to the bed. Hanamaki has pulled his own pants off all the way, letting him spread his legs so Matsukawa can fit better between them. Matsukawa's a little sad, because he really had liked the idea of doing it with Hanamaki in his full uniform, but he can't really complain at getting to see more of Hanamaki naked, so he crawls back into place and stares at Hanamaki, keeping his expression as blank as possible.

"Don't just sit there," Hanamaki says. Matsukawa is pleased to see that there is a faint redness about his cheeks now. "What are you doing?"

"Practicing the poker face you taught me," Matsukawa says. "Is it working?"

"I fucking hate you," Hanamaki says and reaches forward to grab at him again. Matsukawa dodges the movement easily and catches Hanamaki's hand. He flips it over and pulls his arm up so he can press kisses along the underside of his wrist, following the line of the river tattoo that winds along his arm until it disappears under his shirt sleeves.

"You said to stop teasing you," Matsukawa says, turning his face so his voice won't be muffled against the soft skin. "You didn't say what you wanted me to do instead."

Luckily for both of them, Hanamaki's never been shy. "Blow me," he says instantly.

Matsukawa lets go of his arm and shimmies down the bed so he's lying between Hanamaki's legs. He strokes his fingers over his inner thighs, careful not to scrape his nails there because Hanamaki doesn't like it, paying them attention just long enough for Hanamaki to begin shifting impatiently. Then he drags his fingers upwards, toward the jut of Hanamaki's hip bones, then down again until he can curl one hand loosely around Hanamaki's dick and give it a slow pull, twisting his wrist just a little toward the end.

"Funny, that feels like your hand, not your mouth," Hanamaki has time to gripe before Matsukawa leans in and flicks his tongue over the tip, just the lightest of brushes at first, and then a more forceful press of his tongue, sliding against the slit and lapping up any bitterness he finds there. "Nngh," Hanamaki says eloquently and there's a thudding sound that Matsukawa would guess is the back of Hanamaki's head hitting the wall.

Enjoying getting to set the pace now, Matsukawa doesn't take Hanamaki's cock into his mouth right away, choosing instead to slide his lips along the underside from the head to the base, following his hand as it slips down to cup Hanamaki's balls and roll them gently. His other hand is on Hanamaki's hip, thumb tracing slow circles over his hipbone in unconscious rhythm with the movements of his mouth.

"I thought you weren't going to tease anymore," Hanamaki huffs out.

"I don't remember ever agreeing to that," Matsukawa says and flicks his tongue over the tip one more time just to hear Hanamaki groan out a half-formed insult before he lowers his mouth over the head of his dick, slowly easing down. By now, he's done this with Hanamaki enough times that he knows exactly how far he can take him comfortably and how best to use his hands over the length that's left over. He bobs his head, slow at first and then faster, taking care of his teeth and curling his tongue this way and that so no thrust is ever quite the same.

Hanamaki's dick twitches in his mouth and a fresh trickle of precome hits the back of his throat, making him pull off for a moment to cough as Hanamaki says, "Fuck, sorry, Matsu-" and then he slips back on, sucking harder now, eager to pull any reaction he can out of Hanamaki that can't be hidden or downplayed. He's rewarded with a louder groan and a tiny hitch of his hips.

He moves faster, building up the pressure as he goes. He tries to avoid looking up at Hanamaki when he's blowing him because it feels too personal, like he's taking advantage somehow of Hanamaki's vulnerable state when Hanamaki doesn't know how much Matsukawa really wants him, wants him in ways that aren't just limited to his body, but he can't help but sneak a few glances here and there to check on his reactions, to see if he's put his hand up to cover half his face yet the way he always does when he's close, if his mouth has fallen open as he gasps in ragged breaths, if his forehead is crumpled and eyes closed against the waves of pleasure strumming through his body.

"Ah, Matsu, I'm gonna, I'm-" Hanamaki moans out and Matsukawa's eyes flick up only to find that Hanamaki's eyes aren't shut at all, and there's a moment of intense, dizzying eye contact before Hanamaki comes, bitterness filling Matsukawa's mouth as Hanamaki's head falls back.

Matsukawa uses his hand to help him through the last of it. When he's sure he's done, he slowly slides off, careful not to put too much pressure on suddenly over sensitized flesh, and rolls to the side of the bed, reaching for the roll of paper towels he knows Hanamaki keeps nearby. He tears off one and spits into it, folding it up and dropping it into the waste bin under the bed.

By the time he turns back, Hanamaki is sitting up again, eyes alert, though his face is still red and breath harsh. "C'mere," he says, gesturing at Matsukawa's hips. "Want me to do it for you, too?"

Matsukawa thinks about it and shakes his head. "I'm pretty close already," he says honestly. He's always been more into giving than receiving when it comes to this kind of thing. He's not going to knock his own orgasm, not by a long shot, but the real fun for him is getting to see Hanamaki come undone beneath him. "Though I'd appreciate it if you gave me a hand real quick."

"Of course," Hanamaki says and clambers over so they're kneeling chest to chest. He wraps his hand around Mastukawa's cock, pumping it with an easy confidence from having given him a hand in exactly this way dozens of times before.

Matsukawa brings his own hands up to hold on to Hanamaki's upper arms like an anchor and drops his head into the crook of Hanamaki's neck. It's at this point he sees the downside of his clever keep-Hanamaki-in-his-uniform plan. As aesthetically pleasing as the visual is, Mastukawa finds he'd much prefer nuzzling into Hanamaki's bare skin rather than the shirt and vest. Still, everything smells like Hanamaki and if he turns his head, he can brush his mouth against Hanamaki's throat.

"Come on, Issei," Hanamaki murmurs above him and Matsukawa's hips jerk and stutter as nears his orgasm. He groans and fucks up into Hanamaki's hand. It no long after that until he's spilling over Hanamaki's hand, groaning incoherently into Hanamaki's neck and shoulder.

He lets Hanamaki clean up after him, figuring it's only fair. His orgasm leaves him feeling warm and tired, so he flops down on Hanamaki's bed, stretching his limbs out so he's like a starfish.

"Move over, you big lug," Hanamaki says, pushing at him until he can fit on to the bed, too, and then tugging on him until Matsukawa is curled over him like a large and well muscled blanket. Matsukawa realizes vaguely that Hanamaki has pulled off all his clothes by now, making all their contact skin-to-skin. He doesn't mind that at all.

Matsukawa lies contentedly for a few minutes, just enjoying the feel of Hanamaki beneath him and the pleasant buzzing feeling of post-coital cuddling. 

"So," Hanamaki says, breaking the moment. "Do you think I should call them?"

"Call who?" Matsukawa asks, yawning.

"The people who gave me their numbers. Two girls and one guy," Hanamaki says. "Do you think I should call them?"

That wakes Matsukawa up. He tenses and levers himself up so he can stare down at Hanamaki's blank face, a heavy feeling sinking through his body that has nothing to do with sex. "How should I know?" he asks, knowing more of his annoyance is leaking in to his tone than he wants. "Do you want to go out with any of them?"

"I don't know," Hanamaki says. "That's why I'm asking you whether you think I should."

"How the hell would I be able to tell you that?" Matsukawa asks, wishing Hanamaki would show him anything other than complete neutrality. Of all the weird shit Hanamaki has pulled on him over the years, this feels by far the worst. "I don't even know who these people are, so why would I be able to say whether you should go out with them?"

"Well," Hanamaki says with slow deliberation. "I guess you could tell me if you think I _shouldn't_ go out with them."

"How is that any different?" Matsukawa asks and has the weirdest experience of watching Hanamaki's blank expression morph into a similar but slightly different blank expression, which means one of them must actually not be truly blank at all, except Matsukawa has no idea which one it was or what it meant.

"Forget it," Hanamaki says and closes his eyes like he's going to fall asleep.

Matsukawa sits up and pokes him in the ribs. "Don't do that," he snaps.

"Leave me alone, Matsukawa," Hanamaki says, not opening his eyes. "I'm tired."

"Bullshit," Matsukawa says. "Don't ice me out. For fuck's sake, Takahiro, I had your dick in my mouth just five minutes ago." He's not sure whether it's what he said or the use of Hanamaki's given name that makes his eyes pop open, but whichever it is, he's glad it worked. Hanamaki sits up and Matsukawa stares intently, focusing on the tiny crinkles around Hanamaki's eyes that show that he's actually upset. "Just tell me," he says, voice much more gentle.

"I wasn't asking about those specific people," Hanamaki says slowly with a tiny twitch of the muscle in his jaw the only sign detracting from the calm of his voice. "I was asking if you… if you thought I should go on a date with anyone." Another twitch. "Anyone other than you."

"You've never gone on a date _with_ me," Matsukawa says without thinking, which is probably the worst response he could have come up with, but his brain is still reeling, trying to measure what Hanamaki said against the heavy weight of false hope and fears of misunderstanding.

"I'm well aware of that, thanks," Hanamaki says. "Like I said, just forget it. It's not important."

"Do you _want_ to go on a date with me?" Matsukawa asks as carefully as he can manage when it feels like his heart is trying to crawl up his throat and burst out his mouth. 

"Don't be an asshole," Hanamaki says. "Not about this."

"I'm not being an asshole," Matsukawa says. "I'm being- Am I understanding you? If I'm wrong, you can tell me, I just, it sounds like what you're saying is-"

"Yes, okay?" Hanamaki says, turning his face away. "I'd want to go on a date with you, and I was trying to figure out if you'd want to go on one with me, too, but obviously you don't, so it's fine, just leave it alo- _What_?" he snaps, turning back, because Matsukawa has started to laugh and laugh.

Matsukawa realizes it's probably really horrible to leave Hanamaki thinking he's laughing at him after saying all that, so he manages to choke out, "We're both such idiots," before he descends into laughter again. He tries to get himself under control, but Hanamaki's look of confused horror just sets him off again, because he knows that feeling exactly, oh god, could they really have avoided all this if one of them were really just a little less emotionally opaque?

"I am going to throw you out of the apartment stark naked if you don't explain yourself _right now_ ," Hanamaki hisses.

"I've been in fucking love with you for years," Matsukawa says, wiping his eyes, and then leans in and does his best to give Hanamaki the best kiss of his damn life despite the giggles that threaten to erupt from him at any moment.

It's a losing battle, but that's okay, because once Hanamaki stops being as frozen in shock as a rabbit about to be run down by a train, he's kissing him back, warm and enthusiastic and just a bit giggly himself, so even if it's kind of a shitty kiss, all told, it seems like they'll have plenty of opportunities to top it.

Matsukawa plans to take advantage of every one.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe Hanamaki would let Oikawa die in the tiny umbrella uprising.


End file.
